


Star-Crossed

by traceylane



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU, M/M, TINY TINY mentions of brenderesa and nalby, flustered!Minho, there is a coffee shop involved??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2472878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traceylane/pseuds/traceylane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- Just keep running into each other everywhere AU -</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you, Minho.”</p>
<p>“You sure about that?” Minho counters, and Thomas laughs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star-Crossed

Minho just doesn’t  _care_  about coffee.

 If it were up to him, he’d get up every morning, shovel a spoonful or two of store brand instant into a cup with warm water from the kitchen sink and then down it without even stirring. The last time he did this, however, Newt nearly had a heart attack; he doesn’t let Minho make “coffee”, anymore.  

Which means that it’s Newt who is to blame for the fact that Minho's just spilled about three quarters of his overpriced double shot espresso on some guy with dark brown hair and broad shoulders and long eyelashes and a shirt that’s sticking to his abs in a way that Minho shouldn’t be so preoccupied with because he literally just soaked the guy with  _steaming hot coffee._

And Minho wants to apologize but all he says is “ _Fuck_.”

For a moment, or two, or a thousand—Minho can’t really tell—they just stare at each other, open-mouthed.

“Fuck,” Minho says again, trying to restart his brain, although it takes a few more seconds of shocked gaping for him to set down his cup, grab several handfuls of napkins from the dispenser on the counter, and begin dabbing furiously at the poor guy’s dripping, ruined shirt.

“Shit, dude, I’m so,  _so_ , sorry, shit—”

“It’s—It’s okay—”

“Fuck, no it isn’t—”

“No, seriously,” the guy says, grabbing Minho’s wrists, only letting go when Minho finally looks him in the eye. “It’s fine.”

Minho feels his face heat up about three hundred degrees, and he tells himself it’s more because he’s a fucking klutz and less because of the way this guy is smiling at him.

“Wasn’t exactly my favorite shirt, anyway,” he jokes. Minho doesn’t laugh.

So the guy clears his throat, says “I’m Thomas,” and sticks out his hand awkwardly.

And Minho stares at it like it’s poisonous, but then he decides that, just this once, he should try to be more polite. He tosses his napkins away, takes Thomas’ hand, and shakes it. “Um… Minho.”

“Nice to meet you, Minho.”

“You sure about that?” Minho counters, and Thomas laughs.

A voice suddenly calls out from the crowd, “Oi, Minho! Where’d you—Oh,  _shit_.”

They turn to see that Newt has come back from who knows where—wide-eyed, his hand over his mouth—just in time to see Minho holding hands with some guy standing in a puddle of coffee.

“I—I have to go,” Minho says, letting go quickly and pulling Newt away by the arm. It’s kind of asshole move, he realizes, before looking back and calling out “I’m really, really sorry,” over his shoulder when they’re halfway out the door.

And Thomas, dumbstruck, actually  _waves good-bye_.

“Who was that? What happened?” Newt asks when they’re a few yards away and Minho stops pushing him so hard.

“This is what I get for letting you drag me into a goddamn hipster coffee shop that expects you to put the stupid cap on your drink yourself,  _fuck_.”

Newt doesn’t stop laughing for half an hour.

\--

“He couldn’t have been  _that_  hot.”

“No. You don’t understand. He  _was_.”

Teresa and Thomas are running some errands, and have stopped at the drugstore closest to Teresa’s apartment to pick up a birthday card for Brenda.

“You should have seen his arms, holy _shit_ ,” Thomas continues, running a hand over his face and sighing.

Teresa tuts, inspecting a can of iced tea. “Thomas, the guy spilled hot coffee on you.”

“He could have pulled out a knife and stabbed me in the chest. I still would’ve thought he was hot.”

“Oh, God,” Teresa says, rolling her eyes and placing the can in their shopping basket.

Thomas turns away and smiles at the shelves, and the two of them continue to stroll past the small containers of single-serving cereal, making light conversation, before Thomas suddenly freezes.

Because strangely, miraculously, he thinks he can hear familiar voices coming around the corner of the next aisle over.

“—and what’s wrong with strawberry yogurt?”

 “Alby hates strawberry yogurt.”

“Okay, first of all, we don’t always have to get what Alby—Thomas!”

And for the second time in less than a week, Thomas and Minho are shocked into silence at the sight of each other.  

Newt and Teresa look at their respective friends—who are staring at each other as if the rest of the universe has fallen away—and exchange a knowing, exasperated look.

 “Well, you two obviously remember each other, but I don’t think we’ve properly met. M’Newt.” Newt offers his hand, and Thomas keeps his eyes on Minho’s for a fraction of a second even after he takes it. 

“Thomas.”

“Pleasure. And you must be Thomas’…?” Newt turns towards Teresa.

“Friend. Teresa. We’re just here for snacks, and a card for my  _girlfriend,_ ” she emphasizes, shaking Newt’s hand. Thomas swears he sees a flash of relief in Minho’s eyes at that, but he’s always been prone to wishful thinking.

“Lovely.”

Then Newt slaps a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “And this is Minho,” he says, sounding apologetic.

“Oh, I know,” Teresa says, ignoring the way Thomas is trying to a glare a hole through her head. “Thomas mentioned Minho,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

“ _I’m going to kill you_ ,” Thomas murmurs to her, his lips hardly moving, and Teresa’s grin widens.

“Pardon?” Newt asks.

Thomas looks at him, blinks. “Nothing. It’s, uh—”

“I’m sorry about the coffee,” Minho blurts out. “And uh, for leaving you, like that.” He clears his throat, “I mean, with the dripping, and the mess, and just…Sorry. Again.”

“No, it’s okay! Totally okay. I mean, I took a shower, so…” Thomas trails off weakly. Teresa snorts, and Newt and Minho give him a strange look.

And Thomas wants to melt to the floor, but for some reason he begins to say something else. “I…”

_Ask him out,_ Thomas tells himself as the four of them stand in silence, waiting for Thomas to finish his sentence.

_This is your chance. Ask him out. Do it._

_Ask him out!_

“…I think we should get going,” is what Thomas actually says. His heart drops down into his stomach, and he wonders why the lonely, desperate part of him is always overpowered by the part of him that’s a weak piece of shit.

“We should?” Teresa asks him, and Thomas knows she’s trying to help, but it’s a little too late for that now.

“Yeah.” He tugs at her arm and starts backing them out of the aisle. “Um, good-bye, Newt. It was nice meeting you.” He swallows. “Good-bye, Minho.”

Newt looks at Minho, who suddenly looks a little dazed, and pushes him lightly.  _Well?_

But Minho only says, “Oh—good-bye,” in a far away voice as Teresa and Thomas disappear around the corner.

After they’ve paid for their things and left the store, Thomas won’t look Teresa in the eye.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” he mutters through clenched teeth.  

“I wasn’t going to, Tom,” she says sympathetically, giving his shoulder a soft pat. “Well, except that you were certainly right about the arms.”

“Shut  _up_.”

\--

“You should’ve seen him, bloody hell, he was  _drowning_.”

And Newt and Alby roar with laughter over their plates of pasta; the three of them are eating dinner at the new Italian restaurant a block from their apartment, though, rather than eating, they’re more preoccupied with recounting Minho’s humiliating encounters with Thomas-from-the-coffee-shop.

Minho is sulking, spinning his linguine around and around his fork without taking a bite. “This town is just too goddamn small,” is all he can say.

“No, no, no. It isn’t that. It’s destiny!” Alby says, waving his fork in a grand gesture.

Newt takes a piece of ravioli from Alby’s plate and sticks it in his mouth. “Alby, if it were destiny, Minho would be out on a date with him right now instead of being the third wheel on ours.”

“Good point,” Alby says, and the two of them clink their glasses together.

Minho rolls his eyes. “And how do you think that would have gone over?  ‘Hey, sorry for literally throwing my latte at you the other day, can I call you some time?’”

“Ah,” Newt says, “So you definitely wanted his number.”

Minho runs a hand through his hair, his eyebrows knit. “I don’t think he would’ve given it even if I had asked. As soon as he saw me it looked like he wanted to run out of the store.”

“True,” Newt muses, “He did seem a little scared.”

“Well, that’s because you’re naturally intimidating,” Alby says with a laugh.

Minho puts his chin in his hand. “None of this matters if I never see him again. And I won’t.”

And saying it out loud makes him feel a little better, but then a lot worse. The thought of never seeing Thomas again isn’t exactly a happy one. Maybe it  _was_  destiny; the drug store had been the universe giving him a second chance, and he had wasted it.

“I’m going to get some air,” Minho says suddenly, dropping his fork onto his plate and sliding out of his chair. Newt and Alby exchange uneasy glances, but say nothing.

\--

Outside, the sky has gone from a dim gray to almost black, and Minho can almost see his breath. It’s colder than he remembers, and he rubs his hands up and down his arms to keep warm.

He looks up at the few stars that can still be seen through the thick glow of the city’s lights.

“Destiny, huh?”

And someone slams into him.

Minho is built like a brick wall, so whatever poor bastard just ran into him is thrown backwards by the force of the impact. Minho hears the ripping of a paper bag, and everything the guy was holding spills out onto the sidewalk. When Minho regains his footing, he bends down to help pick them up.

 “Shit! Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I—holy crap.”

And Minho looks up, his arms full of bread and bruised fruit, to see wide green eyes on a very surprised, very familiar face.

“You  _again_!” He shouts, and immediately regrets it when he sees how Thomas goes red and scrambles frantically to pick up the rest of his groceries.

Minho stands, holds up a hand to stop him from running.  _Maybe I am a little intimidating_ , Minho thinks hopelessly. 

“No, I mean—I’m just surprised that I’m seeing you again and—not that I didn’t want to see you again, of course—I mean, not in a weird way, but, uh—”

“Thank you,” Thomas says quietly, taking the last apple from Minho’s hands and looking up at him. Their height difference, however small, is a lot more obvious now that they’re standing so close.

 “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m stalking you or something,” Thomas says, his gaze shifting down to his arms, now awkwardly full of food.  

Minho shakes his head. “No, not at all.” He laughs, “I was actually worried you would be thinking that about me.” He runs his hand through his hair. “So, um… You headed home?”

Thomas smiles, “Yeah, I know it’s kind of late, but I got carried away and spent a little too long finding what I needed. But I actually live a couple blocks from here, so it’s not really that inconvenient to walk back.”

“Oh, same! We live down on Reed, my roommates and I—uh, they’re inside, you’ve met one of them—”

“Newt,” Thomas says immediately.

“Yeah, and Alby,” Minho says.

“The one who hates strawberry yogurt?” Thomas asks, and he blushes a little, embarrassed that he’d remembered such a tiny detail, but he’s gone over their last meeting too many times to count now.

But Minho just laughs—and Thomas loves it, he really does—and says, “That’s the one.”

“That must be fun,” Thomas says, “having two roommates.”

“You live alone?” Minho asks, and he nearly winces at how personal of a question it is.

But Thomas says, “I do, but Chuck—er, my brother—he comes to visit to sometimes, and I see Teresa a lot during the week. But it’s good, because I don’t wake anyone up when I go out for a run in the morning, and—”

Thomas stops. “Not that you asked for my life story,” he says.

“I wish I had,” Minho says, and the both of their cheeks tinge pink.

Minho picks up on something else that Thomas said. “You run?”

“Oh, yeah! I love it. It just wakes you up and clears your head.”

“Like free therapy.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Thomas is suddenly excited, realizing that Minho is… like him.

 “See, none of my friends get it, they think it’s just about fitness, or whatever, but it’s like…” He stops, at a loss for words, then lines up his hands at the sides of his head and looks at Minho as if he’ll understand. And Minho does.

“It’s like a mindset,” Minho finishes, and Thomas points at him and says “ _Yes_ , exactly.”

And Thomas looks at Minho like he’s discovered something, new and good.

He shakes his head, and looks away, to the street lamps across the street. “This is so weird,” he says finally, quietly.

Minho leans closer, and their shoulders brush lightly. “What is?”

“Just…meeting you here.” Thomas looks at him. “To be honest, I thought I would never see you again, and I was…” he trails off, his eyes sad.

“Me, too,” Minho says.

“Universe works in mysterious ways, huh?”

“Yeah,” Minho grins, “Must be destiny.”

Thomas scoffs at that, but he’s not in a place to disagree.

So instead he puts on a brave face and asks, “Hey, can I give you my number?”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Absolutely.”

And he reaches for his phone to give to Thomas before both of them realize that he literally cannot hold anything else at the moment.

“Um—I’ll ask the restaurant for a bag.”

“That would be awesome,” Thomas says, sighing, “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“No, seriously,” Thomas says. “Thank you. For that, and for this,” he says, gesturing to the groceries that Minho had helped picked up, “and for talking to me even though I was kind of a dick the last time I saw you—”

“Hey, no, you weren’t—”

“—And for spilling coffee on me. That, too. Thank you.” When Minho gives him a look, he adds, “I don’t know if… if  _this_  would be a thing if you hadn’t. And if it weren’t… well, that would suck, honestly.” He shrugs.

Minho smiles. “Agreed.”

Then Thomas watches him walk back into the restaurant.

And his phone rings.

\--

“What are you doing?” Newt asks as Minho rushes past their table to ask a passing waiter for a paper bag.

“Nothing. Something. Don’t worry about it.”

Alby tries to ask him again as Minho’s on his way out. “What?”

“He’s outside!” Minho calls back, his face lit up like it’s Christmas, and Newt and Alby stare open-mouthed as the door shuts behind him.

\--

Except Thomas is gone.

Thomas is gone, and there’s an apple left on the ground where he used to be, like Cinderella’s glass slipper. Except he can’t go around town asking about some guy who dropped an apple.

And Minho wonders if he’s been abducted or if he’s turned invisible or if there’s some other explanation other than “He ran away because you’re creepy and terrifying”, but he doubts there is one.

But he stills stands outside in the cold for a few more minutes, with a lingering, vague, stupid hope that Thomas will come back.

Then he walks back inside and sits back down at their table, holding the paper bag he’s crumpled into a ball.

Alby looks up at him, “Hey, you. What happened to dream boy?”

But Minho looks straight ahead, expressionless, and Newt waves his hand in front of his face.

 “Minho? You all right? You look a bit pale.”

Minho blinks.

 “Yeah. Everything’s fine, I just need to get hit by a car, is all.”

Newt raises an eyebrow, and Alby sighs.

“Check, please.”

\--

“And you just left?”

“Ooh, Thomas, that’s  _cold_.”

“ _Would you both just let me explain myself?”_

It’s been three days and they’re sitting in Brenda and Teresa’s kitchen. Thomas hasn’t lifted his head from the table in about half an hour because he can’t stand to see the way they’re looking at him.

“All right, then, what happened?” Teresa asks.

Thomas sighs, and begins “I got a call from Chuck, so I answered, obviously.” He leaves out the part about frantically trying to transfer all of his groceries to one arm, dropping them all, and then picking up on the sixth ring.

“Bringing your innocent brother into this? Stop using him to distract us from how much of an asshole you are,” Brenda says, and Teresa hits her arm lightly.

“What did he say?”

“My parents had just dropped him off for the night because they had some stupid party to get to, which, apparently, they had told me about like a month ago and I had just forgotten like a dumbass—”

“Correct,” Brenda cuts in.

“—so he was waiting in front of my apartment building, alone, at night—”

“So you had to leave so you could let him in,” Teresa finishes.

Thomas swallows. “Right.”

“You couldn’t have waited, like, thirty seconds for Minho to come back?” Brenda asks, but even she sounds a little sad about it.

And Thomas groans, pulls at his hair and says “I don’t know! I don’t know why I didn’t, I don’t know if I could’ve, I just know that I did. I was worried about Chuck, and I was worried about what if, you know, it wasn’t thirty seconds? What if  _he_  didn’t come back, either? I would’ve just waited outside forever, and...” He stops, even more acutely aware that it wasn’t really about Chuck and pissed off by his own doubts, his own fears, his own stupidity.

“Oh, Thomas,” Teresa says, putting her hand on her forehead. “You dumb fuck.”

“I know,” Thomas murmurs, pressing his entire face to the table. “And that was probably the last I’ll see of him, too.”

He turns his head to the side, cheek on the hard surface. “I was so close.”

The girls glance at each other, then at the sad sap at their kitchen table, and Brenda says, like it’s obvious, “Well, go find him.”

Thomas finally looks at her, eyes narrowed. “Go  _find_  him? How could I  _find_  him? I don’t even know his last name.”

Teresa shrugs. “Well, you know about where he lives. You know which drugs store he visits. You know one of the restaurants he likes. You know where he gets his coffee.”

“He’s not going back there, Teresa.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You guys, he probably  _hates_  me. I left him, remember? I talked to him and I offered him my number and I left him. I’m an asshole, remember?”

“Oh, stop acting like you know what he’s thinking,” Brenda scolds. “You’re just messing with your own head.” Her expression softens, and she continues, “He  _likes_  you, Thomas. I’ve never met him, but even I know he likes you. So I’m  _telling you_ ,” she puts his hand on his shoulder, looks him dead in the eye, “go find him.”

Thomas glances at Teresa. She nods.

Thomas gets his jacket.

\--

“So what, then? Are you just going to mope around the whole day?”

Newt is looking down at him from behind the couch. Minho has been staring at the TV for the better part of the day. He hasn’t even bothered to switch it on.

“Leave me alone,” Minho says.

“You know, I think I’m going to find this Thomas guy myself,” Newt says, “and give him a piece of my mind.”

Minho flips his pillow up from under him, holds it to his face, and screams into it.

“That was it, Newt. That was my last chance. The universe isn’t  _that_  good.”

“Quit relying on the goddamn universe, then,” Newt says with a sigh before leaving Minho to suffocate himself.

And he makes a very good point.

Minho grabs his keys.

\--

Minho still doesn’t care about the coffee; he’s only come looking for one thing, on the off-chance that he’s even here.

Thomas doesn’t know why he came. He sees the same regulars at their tables, the same barista behind the counter, the same terrible art, but no sign of dark eyes and perfect hair.

The two of them scan the shop one more time before moving to leave, though they stop a few feet from the door when they bump into someone on their way out.

Thomas breathes, “ _Minho_ ,” and without warning, Minho actually grabs Thomas’ arms, pulls him close, and kisses him.

Thomas gasps and Minho pulls away with wide eyes, but it’s Thomas who says, “I’m so sorry.”

And he looks so relieved, and his lips are so red, now, and Minho has to stop himself from yelling over his heartbeat. “Is that going to be a thing between us, apologizing in this coffee shop?”

Thomas smiles at the idea of a  _thing_  between the two of them. “It can be.”

Then he clears his throat, and admits quietly, “You know, I didn’t actually think you would ever come back here, after…” He tilts his head.

Minho shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m going to be honest—I’ve kind of been looking for you.”

“You know, that’s funny. I’ve kind of been looking for you, too.”

Light-years away, a series of stars have aligned perfectly.

\--

They’ve been sitting down at one of the shop’s tables for nearly an hour before they notice the baristas glaring.

And Minho still fucking hates this place, but he supposes he owes it  _something_.

So he asks, “You want a drink?”

“On you, this time?”

Minho laughs. “You’re not going to let this one go, are you?”

And Thomas blinks up at him, takes his hand.

“Nope. Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> Super long and super unbeta'd, so, sorry.  
> Thank you for reading, though, and thanks to tumblr for one of those ~*~new aus~*~
> 
> (I love AUs because I believe Minho (and the others) would be so into swearing if he wasn't so used to Glader swearing. It's beautiful. Also, if I spelled Teresa with an h anywhere, please yell at me.)
> 
> (Thomas is so hard because what I remember the most about him is that he tries to be funny but isn't, except to Minho, sometimes.)
> 
> (Also-- if you have any prompts, please shoot me an ask [at my tumblr](http://amazerunners.tumblr.com/ask) oops)


End file.
